Diane Young
by silentmusic16
Summary: Diane Young? Dyin' Young? Who would name their kid that? An AU oneshot in a different style of prose, inspired by a short story.


**Today I read a rather interesting short story by Charlie Fish (you can easily find it on the web and read it for free, and I totally recommend it) and thus I was inspired to write my own short story in a similar style. Also, it's some present tense practice, because I can get mighty confused by tenses. And yes, the title is inspired by Vampire Weekend's new single "Diane Young". **

**Enjoy!**

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I'm sitting in my chair, watching the clock tick forward more slowly than I have ever seen it move. Seconds last minutes. Minutes last hours. It's hot, sweltering even, and beads of sweat drip down my back adhering me to the uncomfortable plastic chair. At the moment, you could say I'm waiting for a verdict to my crimes.

With only a creak of the door to alert me, in walks a young girl around my age, shoulder length brown hair bouncing with each of her steps and an obnoxious smile on her face. She's not the person you'd expect to be sitting here with me, waiting to see if her transcripts were accepted.

The grinning girl sits beside me without a word and pulls out a small camera from her purse, takes a picture of me. The stupid flash blinds me momentarily and, momentarily, I contemplate smashing it to bits on the hard floor beneath us. She slides the camera back into her bag and then asks me my name, as though nothing had happened at all yet.

"Roxas." I say curtly. My rudeness does nothing to wipe away the smile on her face; hell, it probably made it larger. I watch, incredulous, as she writes my name into a tiny address book, along with the date and time. A concerned, almost scared look on her face makes me feel bad for being rude, but for only a second.

"I'm Diane. Diane Young."

I nearly swallow my gum. She can't seriously expect me to believe her, right? Diane Young. Dyin' young. There aren't any parents lacking in enough sense to name their child that, and there is no child old enough to be preparing for college who wouldn't have had the name changed already. I'm here because my transcripts are a _little_ tarnished with multiple fights. I can't imagine why she'd have to make sure a college might not accept her based upon her records, but hey, looks can be deceiving.

She's sitting next to me and I can see her profile in the corner of my eye. A fly buzzes around our space, and then decides to land on her arm. Immediately, it dies. _Weird_, I think, but keep my mouth shut. Diane is totally straight in her seat, hands folded neatly on her lap, perfect in posture, and she seems to want to avoid touching me at all costs, as her body is very tight and compact, like she's trying to press into herself and take up the smallest space possible. Whatever, she can do what she wants.

More time passes and I start fidgeting in my seat. I'm bored, but now I have someone to talk to at least. The secretaries here in the guidance room are silent aside from the tap tap tapping of their fingers on a keyboard as they do boring busywork.

"Why're you here?" I ask, "_You_ couldn't 'ave done something bad, right?"

She turns to me, still smiling, but now it looks a little less…excited? Satisfied? Fake? I don't know. "I have a criminal record. Accidental manslaughter."

Silence. Total silence. The secretaries didn't hear, or act like they didn't; the incessant tapping continues without a pause. I look left, right, not a single reaction from anyone, and then I turn back to Diane.

"No, seriously" I say.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." She says, laughing. Her giggles sound forced and her smile seems strained. I don't totally believe her, but I go along with it because it's easier than thinking that right now I'm sitting beside a murderer, accidental or not. She continues speaking. "I transferred here last year and I just want to make sure all of the credits from my old school will count for college now."

"Diane young," I hear a secretary call before I can respond. "Your counselor can see you now." So she gets up and starts walking to his office, waving goodbye to me with a friendly smile. Before I can try to get more comfortable in my seat, I'm called into my own counselor's office. He's an odd looking man, blue haired and facially scarred. I can't figure out his deal, never could since I started my high school career, and I'm relieved when he tells me my past transgressions can't prevent me from being accepted into college. I exit my office at the same time that Diane exits hers, but there's a suspicious lack of even a respectful handshake between her and her counselor, like what I did with mine. Diane seems to want to avoid any physical contact with people. This is odd for someone as nice as her, I guess. Just because I feel like talking to her a bit more I wait at the guidance room exit and lean against the doorjamb, trying my hardest to appear cool to this cute girl who, I admit, does set off some weirdness alarms in my head (that I promptly ignore). But her smile, while obnoxiously peppy, is a bit cute. So I continue waiting for her to reach me and smile real nice for her. She smiles back kindly and we start walking together towards the student parking lot, ready to leave the school.

"So, are they acceptin' your transcripts?" I ask

"Yep, you?"

"Surprisingly."

She laughs and finally we reach the exit to the school. I ask to exchange numbers and plan on text her tonight. She's grinning the entire time, more real than most of her earlier ones. Some courage bubbles up inside of me and I decide to take the plunge; I go in for a hug. She tries backing a way, a distressed sound escapes her lips, but it's too late and my skin touches hers and suddenly I'm on fire and then everything fades and fades and fades and my last image before death is the absolute horror on her face.

"Not again." I think I hear her whisper, and then silence.

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**Reviews are very much appreciated, especially for something so different from what I usually write (prose-wise, and tense-wise, at least). **


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